


Against the Odds

by alex_kade



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Double-A, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I am not beating on Q's wings in this fic 'cause that boy has been through enough!, I'm borrowing them from a friend, M/M, Romance, Whump, Wingfic, angel - Freeform, because I love whump too much, because I ship them so hard it hurts, but I'll beat on other characters, i'm gonna stop tagging now before I break something, new 008, rolling around in other people's sandboxes because it's fun, the OCs in this AU are amazing, which means 006/004, which means Alec/Aiden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-06 18:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_kade/pseuds/alex_kade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>008's passing was difficult on everyone, especially 006 and 007, but MI6 has honored the grieving period for far long enough. It's time for a new recruit to step into 008's shoes, but thus far, the senior Angels haven't exactly been...cooperative with the potential candidates. With one failure after another, M finally throws her hands in the air and leaves it to the Angels to choose a new 008 of their own.</p><p>Let the 008 Recruiting Competition begin!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [No Rest for the Wingless](https://archiveofourown.org/works/816184) by [Only_1_Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/pseuds/Only_1_Truth). 



> Once again, thanks to Truth for letting me play in her sandboxes. Can't get enough of this wingfic AU! Or the OC's! (You'll note I have an obsession with Aiden and Gregory...). Truth helped me quite a bit on the sidelines with further detailing the rules of her universe and the other 00's, so if you like this fic, send lots of love her way, as well.
> 
> The character, Rey, is my invention. Hopefully you'll enjoy him as much as I do. :)
> 
> If you haven't read Wing, please do or you'll miss out on some important details for this fic. You may also want to read Truth's ["Attack-Dogs Make Good Babysitters"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/710074/chapters/1312445) because even though that's an entirely different AU, Gregory and Saul are still being used for 003 and 002, respectfully, in this AU.

It was a Christmas miracle.

Except it wasn't anywhere near Christmas, and while it  _was_ miraculous, it didn't bring on the feelings of hope and good cheer that holiday family movie events typically inspired. At least not for MI6.

MI6, at the moment, was on the verge of being in a chaotic mess, but not for the reasons that most people would think of. Most people would think that the agency would be in meltdown mode due to some terrorist attack or threat, or maybe someone breached a system that should've been impossible to breach, or perhaps an assassination attempt was made on one of the higher ups. Nope - while all of those things were cause for much alarm, everyone in the agency had been through them before, so those were situations that everyone was relatively familiar with handling. What was happening now was fairly unprecedented, though, and therefore there was no way to be fully prepared for the fallout it might bring.

At the moment, MI6 was in its second week where not a single agent was out on mission. The world, it seemed, was caught in a rare moment of not peace (there would probably never be a time when the whole world was at peace), but things were at least calm enough where the unique skills and abilities of the double-oh agents were not specifically required for the time being. What that left MI6 with was a bunch of amped-up Angels and absolutely nothing with which to keep them properly occupied. It was like housing a bunch of hungry tigers who also happened to be high on catnip. There was no way that wouldn't spell trouble.

Unfortunately, "trouble" happened to fall on whichever poor candidate was currently being considered to replace the late 008. Over the past two months, M had chosen and subsequently lost three potentials to the hijinks of the other double-ohs. Even with some of them being out on mission, there was always someone left behind who clearly disapproved of Brant's potential replacement. It was a given for Bond and Trevelyan to interfere with the candidate Angel's test mission, given as how they were Brant's best friends for years, but M had made certain that both of them would be gone when she began to sort through the trainees for her next agent. Apparently her plans to keep them out of the process were for not, however, as their fellow agents took up the mantle of running Operation: Anti-New 008. The first potential got knocked out of the sky, quite literally, by an "accident" caused by 009. The second went missing for two days and then was finally discovered tied up in storage unit - a special "test" being run by 002 and 003, apparently, to see how skilled the potential might be at evading and escaping capture. They, of course, didn't bother telling the candidate or anyone at MI6 that they were performing such a test, which they claimed only helped to prove that the candidate was not prepared for the unexpected. M, sadly, could not disagree. The third potential walked into her office without explanation one day, face completely pale, and simply turned in his resignation. No one could pinpoint exactly what happened, but shortly thereafter, 004 had been called into Q's office where he remained for a good half hour before stepping back out looking nearly as chastised as if he'd been lectured by M, herself. There was a bet that Aiden had been in cahoots with 006 and 007 for that one, and Q had taken to punishing 004, himself, as opposed to getting M involved. Why? Because he was probably trying to save Bond from their employer's wrath, knowing that somehow he and Alec were still interfering with the replacement of 008 while they were supposed to be focusing on their missions. M would've probably ripped out half their feathers for it.

Not that it mattered now, since every single Angel in MI6 (including Q) was now standing or sitting in M's office, eyes averted to the floor out of respectful fear as she tore into the lot of them for losing their fourth 008 candidate. No one even  _tried_ to take responsibility for this one, all of them having come to some sort of silent agreement that the potential had simply decided he was homesick and abruptly moved back to Russia all on his very own. Unfortunately for M, she had trained her Angels too well in the art of lying and therefore couldn't pinpoint who, exactly, the guilty parties were. She had the distinct feeling that all of them were in on it with the exception of perhaps Q, but he wasn't giving up any information (damn his prior double-oh training!), so he was equally to blame. Lucky for the rest of them, his kicked puppy look served to melt M's icy heart just a tiny bit, causing her to inadvertently lighten up her tirade with a heavy sigh.

"I understand that the late 008 was one of our longest standing agents, and that you are all simply trying to honor his memory, but we cannot keep the number open forever," she stated. "We need a new agent to serve as his replacement."

"I don't see why," Alec bravely mumbled. "By the looks of it, there are too many of us as it is."

_And_ M was now back to bristling, which may have turned into another verbal lashing had she not seen 004 elbow his partner at the same time that Bond lightly kicked him in the ankle. With Alec being kept in check by those two, she chose to let the comment slide in favor of not wasting any more time on arguing with stubborn Angels.

"We _will_ have another 008," she stated in a tone that brooked no further argument, then she went silent for several minutes as she looked down the row of her most dangerous assassins. None were looking back at her, instead keeping their eyes averted cautiously to the floor. If they'd had tails instead of wings, they'd all be tucked firmly between their legs at the moment, further appeasing M's temperament. Perhaps it was time to throw them a bone. "But, given as how none of you seem to approve of my personal picks among the qualified candidates, and honestly because if I hear one more complaint in regards to bored Angels misbehaving in my halls I may just resort to physical violence, I would like all of you to head out to the training camp and collectively choose a new 008 for yourselves. How you go about making the final decision is entirely up to you."

Q raised his head in slight alarm, along with a finger that signaled he was about to make an argument. "Um, M, not to, uh, question your-"

"Quartermaster, anything you could possibly say to follow that statement will be in direct question of my intelligence and/or my decision making capabilities," she spat out, "so I recommend not finishing it. I've made up my mind. Consider this to be a mission assigned to all MI6 double-oh agents, and one of top priority unless contacted and told otherwise. As their Quartermaster, you will be accompanying them on said mission-"

"But-"

"-in person. We need someone there who can keep this lot in line, and that, Q, is you." 

There was just the slightest hint of a smirk on her lips that had Q's jaw snapping shut as quickly as if she'd struck him with a surprise uppercut. He was being punished. While it was true that the Angels listened to him probably better than everyone else aside from M, herself, trying to corral all eight of them at once would be damn near impossible. To argue that, however, would be akin to admitting that he was incapable of properly doing his job, and therefore he was stuck following the order unless he wanted to show weakness in front of his agents, something he really couldn't afford to do. M had backed him into a proper corner, one he could never hope to get out of. 

He made a mental note never to cover for his agents against his employer again, not even Bond. As far as Q was concerned, everyone was liable to be thrown under the proverbial bus after this point. Punishment as severe as this simply wasn't worth it.

Speaking of Bond, the man cleared his throat slightly, causing Q to tense up and wince both at the same time.  _Please don't say anything stupid, Bond_.

"Not an argument, just a question," 007 clarified, seeing the way that M tensed up along with Q. She gave him a curt nod in permission to speak. "When are we expected to begin this mission?"

Now she was smiling in earnest, an expression that generally served to just make everyone in MI6 more nervous around her than usual. "Immediately, 007. You are all to head out to the training facility as soon as you get your things together. They're expecting your arrival before sunset today, so I suggest you pack quickly. You're all dismissed."

The agents snapped into action instantly, eager to file out of the room and away from M's wrath. Q, however, lingered behind for just a moment longer, having caught her eye for the briefest of seconds before turning to leave.

"Something else, M?" he questioned politely.

She nodded at him, her expression stern. "Despite any ulterior motives on my part, I do believe you to be the most qualified to keep them in line, Quartermaster. Do make certain they refrain from blowing up my training facility or frightening away all of my recruits."

"I will do my absolute best, Ma'am," he replied with a slight dip of his head.

"Well, do better than that," she ordered, then flipped her hand at him dismissively. "Good luck, Quartermaster. Lord knows you'll need it with that lot."

Q hesitated for just a moment before turning towards the door, uttering a small, "Thank you," before heading out that he didn't really mean. He had a feeling this was going to be the most difficult mission he would ever be directing.

He had no idea just how accurate that feeling would be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is groggy, Bond is impatient, Gregory is actually behaving (sort of), and Alec and Aiden are childishly frisky. Welcome to the first morning at the old training grounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to bring back sleepy morning Q. Because I missed sleepy morning Q. He's too adorable to vanish completely.
> 
> I liken this experience to going back to your old grade school and being allowed to just run around wherever you please and do whatever you want (which usually winds up with adults forgetting how to adult as they try to hang from monkey bars that are now far too short for them to properly hang off of...).
> 
> *Warning - there is a little bit of foul language in this chapter. Because 003. That's how he rolls.

"Q, darling," Bond cooed into the head of thick waves that curled across the pillow beside him, "we should get moving if you want to hit the course before the recruits swarm it."

A mumble that sounded like it could've been a question rolled out lazily from the smaller Angel beside him, making Bond lay back with a heavy sigh. He didn't think Q had even really heard him, nor was aware that he'd attempted a response. It was one of  _those_ mornings, apparently, the ones that happened with fewer frequency since Q had gotten his wings back, but still crept up on them at the most inopportune times. The Angels had all arrived at MI6's training facility a little after dark, making it impossible for Bond to thoroughly show his partner around, who was the only Angel operative to have not gone through the same rigorous program as the rest of them. Q, having been recruited into MI6 at a far younger age than the others and for different reasons (all revolving around his sheer level of genius, of course), had completed his training elsewhere where he wouldn't be bullied or influenced by the likes of the standard selection of recruits. That meant he hadn't been privy to the spectacular flight-course that Bond and the others had been introduced to during their residency at the facility, one that had been nothing short of an obnoxiously difficult challenge when they were young, but was now considered to be a nostalgic and stupidly fun playground to agents of their current skill and caliber. Bond wanted nothing more than to allow Q to put his new wings to the test on said playground, knowing the younger man would have a blast gliding around and through the varying obstacles.

But that wouldn't happen if the Quartermaster couldn't drag himself out of bed.

"Come on, Q, up, up," Bond encouraged, though the words were meant more as a warning as opposed to an actual request. Words did absolutely nothing when his partner was suffering the effects of his energy malfunctions; actions were far more effective, which was basically the motto for all double-oh agents, anyway. Without any further coddling, Bond simply slipped his arms beneath Q's smaller frame and gently slid him out from beneath the covers, mindful of his lax, slim, beautiful wings as he carried him towards their designated room's oversized bathroom. As a facility made exclusively for Angels, every room in every building was designed specifically to accommodate their full wingspans, the design for Bond's own bathroom and shower having been inspired by the facility's models. Of course, those designs were based on the _recruits'_ washrooms. Now that he was seeing the rooms that were saved specifically for guests to the compound, he was seriously rethinking doing a remodel. Not only was there enough space to shower in complete comfort with the option to wet their wings or not, there was also a deep tub built with the same options in mind, leaving room to rest wings comfortably outside of the warm bath waters, or to fully submerge them if an Angel so wished (not to mention the full-body, stand-in blower for efficiency in drying wings post-bath). Q, as Bond had discovered from the times when his partner chose to spend the evenings in 007's flat, rather enjoyed getting his wings wet for some peculiar reason. Therefore, as a means of hopefully helping to ease the man into the morning, Bond felt a quick bath might help serve to rouse him. 

"If you dunk me in cold water," Q mumbled in Bond's arms as the agent leaned over to turn on the faucet, "I swear on every cloud in the London sky that I will dump a bucket of ice on your head every morning for the next week."

Bond chuckled at that, moreso when Q adjusted himself to further nuzzle into James's neck. "I wouldn't dream of being that cruel, not to you," Bond assured him. "But unless you want your sleeping clothes drenched, I'd suggest you wake up enough to get undressed."

"Mm. You do it."

The smirk that touched 007's lips lacked any lewd thoughts that he normally should've had following such a comment, half-asleep Q being simply too endearing in a childlike way to think of him as being a sexual entity in the moment. Using gentle words to coax his partner into a somewhat cooperative position, Bond got him on the edge of the tub and began the process of stripping him down for no other purpose than to get him washed up and ready to go for the day. Q wouldn't really be up for anything more than that, anyway, at least not for another solid hour and about three cups of coffee. Speaking of which...

"I'm going to turn the pot on," Bond informed his partner as he helped to settle him into the tub. "Will you be alright for a few minutes on your own?"

The loose hand gesture Q gave him was not very convincing, so Bond simply slipped his hands beneath Q's feathers and carefully draped his wings over the narrow wall of the tub, using them as a means to pretty much hook the little Angel in place so he wouldn't slide down beneath the water. It was perhaps an unnecessary precaution, being as how most people would wake instantly if they found themselves suddenly submerged and unable to breathe, their body's instincts kicking in to seek out oxygen, but Q's mind and body seemed incapable of firing on even half their cylinders when he was having a slow morning. It wouldn't surprise Bond if he left for a mere two minutes only to return to find his Quartermaster contentedly drowning in the warm tub water, oblivious to anything but the fact that he was able to catch just a few more minutes of sleep.

Checking one more time to make certain Q was securely in place, James wandered out to the kitchen to start a pot of what practically needed to be sludge to contain enough caffeine to get Q moving. Hopefully between that and receiving a full-body scrub, it would be enough to wake the man up enough to attempt the obstacle course. Q would be sad to miss it, James was certain of that, and he would do anything to keep his lover from feeling any form of sadness, even if that sadness would really just be a mild disappointment over having to wait one extra day. No, Bond would not be satisfied with even that level of sadness.

"This had better work," he demanded quietly of the universe at large as he flipped the switch to turn on the pot, letting out another soft sigh as he turned back to the bathroom. He hoped it would work. If it didn't, then tomorrow wouldn't be able to come soon enough.

~~~~~~~~~

"You sure you're ready, love?" Bond asked, eager to get going, but not so eager that he'd risk Q's health over something that could legitimately be postponed if it were absolutely necessary. "We could take a car if you're not up for a flight."

"I'm _fine_ , James," Q assured him for probably the twenty-seventh time, though the thickness that still lingered in his voice said otherwise. Despite that, however, clean, dry, and full of caffeine, he trudged ahead towards the picture-window door that lead out to the guest quarters balcony. It was an impressive one, forming a single massive, sturdy platform that ringed the entire circumference of the cylindrical building, allowing the agents easy access to one another's rooms from the outside if needed, and also serving as a spacious launchpad from which to take flight. With that purpose specifically in mind, there was no banister built around the platform's edge and no reason to consider the safety flaws in such a design plan. The thought of falling wasn't exactly a concern when dealing with Angels, after all, but Q was no ordinary Angel, and seeing him shuffle out on heavy feet towards the platform's high edge was making Bond more than a little nervous. What if he stepped right off and couldn't get his wings out in time to slow his descent? He hadn't been flying for  _that_ long since the muscle memory required for flight had fully returned to him; it wouldn't be too paranoid to wonder if his memory might not fail him while he was in this groggy state.

"Q, maybe we should-" he tried again as they stepped out into the light of the morning sun, only to bite his tongue as he realized they were not quite alone in their early rising. It would not due to question or coddle his Quartermaster in the full view of some of the other agents, particularly one like 003 who was currently sitting on the balcony's edge, his legs dangling off the side in carefree fashion. He had his head tilted back into the sun, seeming to enjoy the warm rays as they dried little water droplets off his torso and sopping-wet wings, the water reflecting back the light in such a way as to make the deep blue highlights of his otherwise black feathers shine that much brighter. It would almost be a breathtaking sight if 003's unusually colorful plumage didn't remind Bond of nature's tendency to use such beauty as a warning to protect potential predators against an animal's hidden, deadly poison. Gregory Hind was about as deadly as they came, remorsefully quick to strike out against anyone or anything who might dare to cross his path the wrong way, or the paths of those he cared about. Glock, his black wolf hybrid, was one of the things he cared about the most, and currently the dog was stretched out beside him on the platform, soaking up the sun without a care in the world (but equally as dangerous as his master if need called for it).

Not that Q seemed to care about any of that. He strolled casually up behind 003, knowing full well that the agent had heard them coming through the door and therefore seeing no reason to further alert the temperamental Angel to his presence (or his dog, who didn't even lift his head at Q's approach).

"You know they have a dryer," he stated casually, coming to a stop beside Glock, unconsciously (or perhaps consciously) placing the dog between him and 003 in case the agent proved to be in one of his more foul moods that morning.

Apparently he wasn't as he merely shrugged his shoulders, keeping his eyes shut against the sunlight and his weight leaning back on his hands in a completely relaxed manner. He looked oddly...at peace, something that was rarely seen in the agent around headquarters or on mission. Sluggish as Q's brain was at the moment (just around the edges, nothing that James needed to be alarmed about), he pondered over whether Hind's demeanor was due to the nostalgia of just being back at the old training compound, or if wasn't perhaps due to the simple fact that he'd been allowed to bring Glock along on this particular non-hazardous mission. Lots of agencies used canines both for mission and therapy work; there probably wouldn't be too much red tape to pass through in order to get Glock officially certified to function in both capacities for 003. If the mere presence of the dog kept the man this subdued, it would definitely be worth looking into once they all returned from this ridiculous excuse for a mission. Or a vacation, depending on how one looked at the scenario. Q was willing to believe that it was actually a bit of both.

"Hind," Bond greeted as he came up to stand behind Q. And just like that, the sense of tranquility that had surrounded them just seconds before wavered like a ripple running through an otherwise still pond, the energies of both 003 and 007 spiking minutely in a subtle display of respectful wariness for one another. There was no malice in it, though, just a rough edge that reminded Q of what he was dealing with, considering he now had all eight of his active Angels in one spacious but confined area at the same time, and not all them particularly got along.

And as if reading his mind, Bond followed his greeting with a casually stated, "Wasn't your room on the other side of the building?" Q noted the way 007 kept his eyes averted out towards the landscape as he'd made his query, a sign that he wasn't attempting to start any form of altercation. Not really.

Gregory, for his part, still had yet to even  _open_ his eyes, looking for all the world like he couldn't be rattled by anything at the moment, but his energy waves were still slipping up and down in a tightly-controlled frequency, oddly syncing up with the rate at which his fingers were idly gliding through Glock's hair. Yes, Q most definitely needed to get this dog official MI6 clearance if it would result in a less cagey 003 stomping around Headquarters.

"Sun's on your side," Gregory shrugged again, then finally cracked an eye open to flash them a wry smirk. "I swapped with Serena last night. That a problem?"

Bond tensed slightly at Hind's admission, clearly disapproving of this change in temporary living arrangements. As it was before, they had Alec and Aiden neighboring on one side of their room, and Serena taking up post on the other, the friendly alliance between 004 through 007 promising a rather trouble-free stay for all of them. Q wasn't really certain how the rest of the rooms were assigned, but he thought that perhaps 009 and 002's rooms were both on opposite sides of Alec's and Serena's rooms, and then to finish out the building's circle on the other side, they had 003 next to 001--oh. And _now_ Q's fuzzy brain was catching up to what was going on. 

"No, 003. We're happy to have you as our neighbor," he blurted out rather abruptly, though still somehow managing his cool tone of voice. It didn't prevent the twin looks of confusion on both Hind's and Bond's faces, however. Not that Q cared. He merely tugged on Bond's arm and gestured out towards the sky beyond the platform. "Didn't you have something you wanted to show me?"

"Right, yes," 007 muttered slowly, still with that questioning look which Q promptly ignored in favor of stepping a bit further to the side so he could fully stretch his wings without accidentally hitting anybody in the face. The sensation of the sun warming his feathers while the morning breeze sifted through them was nearly enough to wake him the rest of the way, the adrenaline thrill that continued to strike him pre-flight serving him just as well as another straight shot of caffeine would have. 

"Come on, Bond," he smiled, and before 007 could even move, Q stepped right off the ledge. For one heart-attack-inducing second, the Quartermaster simply fell, then he snapped his wings back and flared his feathers out, almost stopping himself still right there in the air. He twirled around, flashing James a bright smile that could've lit up the sky far better than any sun, making Bond realize just how ludicrous it had been to ever think Q might falter. The man probably could've been asleep on his feet yet still had no issues navigating subtle wind currents. He loved the act of flying, pure and simple, moreso than any other Angel possible ever could. Having known flight, then lost it for so many years, it seemed he would never take his gift for granted ever again. He  _belonged_ in the air, and it gave Bond a thrill of his own just watching him.

"Jesus fucking Christ," 003 muttered, drawing a glower from Bond, who realized too late that he had been grinning like an idiot at Q's joy, and that 003 had witnessed it. Not that Hind gave a shit about the dangerous look 007 was giving him. He simply went back to leaning on his hands, head tilted up at the sun. Then, because he was  _him_ , had to add in a tone that sounded nothing short of dangerously serious, "Get it up as much as you want, but if you guys keep  _me_ up in the process, I'll put bullets straight through your wall until it's quiet enough to get back to sleep. I don't really care where they land."

007 stepped towards Hind at the threat, but stopped when Glock lifted his head to stare at him, his lips quivering in something that wasn't quite a baring of teeth, but the warning was definitely there. Between that and Q calling out for him again, Bond clenched his jaw and stepped away from Gregory's obvious taunt, launching himself into the air after his partner. It was too early in the trip to start fighting with his fellow Angels, especially when Q was finally awake enough to enjoy himself. God forbid Bond should be the one to ruin it. Still...

"Happy to have him as a neighbor?" James couldn't help but question irritably as he flew parallel to his Quartermaster. "He'll be lucky if Alec and I don't kill him before the day is up."

"And if he had stayed where he was," Q countered, "he and 001 would have killed each other within the first hour. The decision to voluntarily switch rooms is 003's version of trying to behave himself. I consider it a blessing, so do try and play nice with him for the duration of our stay."

Bond didn't know whether to be amused or offended by Q's condescending tone and smile. He was just on the verge of making a decision when his thoughts were interrupted by a black shadow racing over his and Q's heads while a white blur zipped past below them - Aiden and Alec were awake, apparently, and laughing at Bond and Q as they left them in the proverbial dust. Bond nearly growled at the antics. Q actually giggled and pumped his wings to pick up his own speed.

"Hurry up, 007, unless you're planning to let them get away with that," he called back over his shoulder.

A nasty smile slowly grew on 007's lips. "No, I most definitely am not. Follow me, Q. I know a shortcut."

He veered off, and Q obediently followed. If Alec and Aiden wanted to play games, then Bond was absolutely up for the challenge, especially after 003 had already gotten him completely riled up. With all that excess energy pumping through his system, 006 and 004 didn't stand a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *note - the mention of previous bath-time antics between Bond and Q spawned from a lil' something that Truth let me read. I will spoil nothing further than that, but I wanted readers to know that whenever she publishes said story, it was her idea first, not mine. Gotta make sure credit stays where it's due. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more insight into MI6's special Academy, Q gets introduced to the obstacle course, and the boys discover that they have a fan!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! But I think most of my readers are basically the same crew at this point, so you guys know I've been pumping out other Bond fics like a machine. I feel that should excuse the fact that this one was put on hold for a little bit.
> 
> All the plot bunnies. It's too much!

If there was one thing that MI6 had learned while Q was relearning how to fly, it was that the little bugger was remarkably  _fast_. With his light, lean build and sleek, but strong wings, he could shoot across the sky like a perfectly-honed missile at speeds that most of the larger Angels couldn't even touch, their wings built more for power and endurance than for an outright sprint. The girls had a tendency to come a little closer to the Quartermaster's pace with their own smaller frames, but it seemed the years of living with a lack of Angel energy that had left him incapable of putting on mass similar to his comrades had also left him with yet another advantage on top of his mind control ability - the ability to beat every single one of them in a race.

So, instead of trying to keep up, Bond simply instructed Q in where to go and let him loose, grinning that too-proud smile as he was left trailing a bit behind. 

For Q, it wasn't even about beating the aptly-called Double-A anymore. He could've lapped them within minutes of them having begun their morning shenanigans, but sticking with Bond to outmaneuver them via a shortcut sounded more enticing. Plus, it gave him more of a chance to explore the little pocket of anti-civilization they'd all been relegated to. They weren't on an island, not a real one, but it might as well have been considering how cut off it was on all sides from most human contact. With mountains circling roughly three-quarters of the area, and ocean cliffs bordering the rest, the place was all but impossible to get into unless one either had wings, or was granted passage through the one nearly-hidden tunnel entrance that was only just big enough to allow a single car to slide through. It having been dark at the time, the Angels had arrived via a small caravan of cars that had taken them straight to the column building, which served as the general living quarters for all staff and guests of the facility. The recruits, as Q was told, lived in more standard boot camp quarters - a "base" of single buildings at ground level consisting of their shared bunk spaces and washrooms, a mess hall, a workout room, and an outdoor area with a standard racing track, basketball quart, and other such familiarities that wouldn't completely take young Angels away from their previous Mundane lives. Or, for those who were direct products of MI6's breeding program, practically born and raised with the intent of becoming agents some day, it helped to better integrate them to the Mundane lifestyle. To be considered a good double-oh agent, an Angel had to understand all aspects of living in the modern world, after all, not just the Angel or the Mundane side by itself. 

Q, sadly, had not gotten a chance to discover any of that. It served him better, in the end, allowing him to easily slide into the position of Quartermaster after his incident without any of the Angels having been the wiser that he was one of their own until he had intentionally blown his cover. If he'd gone through Academy like the others, he most certainly would have bumped into Aiden a time or two, what with 004 not being _too_  much older than Q. Their age classes would've been grouped into the same bunker, most likely, which meant the probability of them having been acquaintances would've been rather high. They might have even been friends for a time before Aiden would've graduated to the next level. In fact, Q was certain of it, given 004's more docile and obedient temperament (when he wasn't around Alec, anyway - god that man was a horrible influence!). Thinking on it, he may have crossed paths with Saul and Serena, as well, though that would've been less likely with them having been relegated to the highest-level area of training by the time Q would've attended Academy. It was those Angels, the ones who were really on the brink of becoming agents, that had it the hardest, their training akin to the harsher methods that military special forces recruits had to endure. During that time, their ties with their younger cohorts were all but cut off, preparing them for the worst of what the world would offer them should they rise to the title of a double-oh. These were the recruits that Q and the others had been sent to choose from, and Q couldn't help but wonder what they would be like. He imagined walking down a line of pitbulls held to obedience on chained leashes, but quickly shook that mental image away. Some of them would have that air about them, certainly (001 and 003 came to mind), but there would be others - tamer ones like 004 and 005, and ones who would simply watch and wait to see whether to bite or offer a wag of a tail, like 007. 

A snort escaped Q as he realized he was comparing his agents to fighting dogs, and at the very thought of Bond wagging a tail, but he couldn't help but shrug at the accuracy of the ridiculous sentiment. The trained angels were all dangerous in their own right despite any outward appearance they gave off, so it was just a matter of what type of new danger they would be welcoming into their fold. Q would not be participating in the decision-making process, thinking it absurd and a little bit cruel that a game was about to be made of all this - and, oh yes, it would most definitely be a game. Q knew his agents far too well to think anything otherwise. Still, secretly he hoped that their new 008 would be someone akin to Aiden, or at least like Serena, who had her own difficult streak and an occasional flash temper, but was still a bit easier to work with than the majority of the other double-oh's. Even Bond, his own partner, was maddeningly obstinate; possibly moreso now that he considered himself to have a free "I'm shagging my supervisor" pass. 

Arse.

Q's musings were interrupted as he realized there was something odd about the span of forest he was approaching and the small outcropping of highrises he could see looming up behind it. Curious, he pushed himself to fly even faster until the peculiarity he spotted formed a tangible shape - a dome, of sorts, not unlike the monkeybar apparatuses seen on a child's playground - spanning over the top of the entirety of the forest and the miniature cityscape behind it. The entire monstrosity was made of solid metal bars, the triangular gaps between them rather narrow in the aerial space above the landscape, but widening out just at the top of the tree line and below. They allowed easy entry into and out of the dome if one were willing to traverse the forest or fly between the buildings behind it, but not allow an Angel to gain simple entry or to escape the area from the top (not with any relative ease, anyway). Q could probably still worm his way through even the narrowest gap at the dome's center, but he rather believed that would be defeating the entire purpose of this obstacle. The point, he realized, was to make it through the forest and looming city without cheating and just going over the top.

"Q," Bond smirked as he caught up to his partner and hovered in the air beside him. "Welcome to our playground."

 ~~~~~~~~~

"This is your shortcut?" Q asked skeptically as he and Bond peered into the forest from the ground. 

James merely smiled at his uncertainty. "The start of the obstacle course is actually on the other side of the city model, which is where Alec and Aiden are headed. As you can see, to get there means they'll have to fly around this entire area."

Q arched an eyebrow at his partner. "Yes, but in empty airspace. Maneuvering through a thicket of trees will slow us down significantly. Unless you've somehow stumbled across the secrets of teleportation, in which case I will be very cross with you for not telling me so sooner."

"No teleportation required," Bond chuckled. "You happen to be looking at the top record-holder for navigating this particular part of the course, and our opponent happens to have the _worst_ clocked passable time in all of Academy history."

Q's eyes squinted. "Nonsense. I've seen Alec move through trees. He's as stealthy and sure of himself as you are."

"When he has to be, yes," Bond readily agreed, then his smile turned nothing short of evil. "But he'll never  _choose_ to do so if he can get away with it. If there's one thing Alec hates above all else, it's getting tree sap on his wings."

Well that...actually sounded  _exactly_ like something 006 would worry about, of all things. Leave it to Trevelyan to be perfectly okay with singing feathers and flesh in over-the-top explosions, but concern himself over something as virtually harmless as tree sap. How Aiden even put up with that impossible man was beyond Q... yet still, it was a good fact to know, something to potentially threaten Alec with should he prove to be overly difficult in the future. They were in England, after all, where there was no shortage of trees to gather the sticky substance from for the sole purpose of holding over 006's head any time the agent stepped out of bounds.

Q squared his shoulders and took a step towards the opening of the dome they stood in front of. "In that case, Mr. Record-Holder, lead the way."

Blue eyes snapping to that incredible focus he always had on missions, but still with that mischievous smile on his face, Bond flared his wings and lifted himself only a foot off the ground before he darted into the trees, having no doubt that Q would follow. Knowing his Quartermaster would be hot on his heels, he kept his attention ahead, drawing up his mental map of the entirety of the invisible maze that had been woven through the forest. It was a secret passage that most Angels never caught onto, most of them just blindly flying through whatever wide gaps in the trees they happened to come across, but slip through the wrong one with a little too much speed, they would find themselves getting tangled in vines or not able to turn themselves fast enough to prevent an impact with another tree looming up ahead. Bond, however, had spent hours of his free time simply walking the woods, seeking out a pattern in the way the branches bent or the leaves strung down over hidden obstacles. Despite the appearance that those who designed the Academy had simply sectioned off an area of natural thicket for use as training, James had discovered that a lot of the course actually seemed to be plotted with very keen, deliberate intention, and once he knew what he was looking for, it hadn't been overly difficult to find the one passage through the trees that offered a clean flight all the way through. Still, there were several sharp turns required to stay on said path, several narrow places that required an instant folding of the wings to slip through, and a necessity to stay low to the ground to avoid branches overhead, all of which Bond knew by complete muscle memory, but that Q had never even once encountered.

Not that it seemed to matter. Q trusted Bond explicitly, and knew the agent wouldn't lead him astray in any way if he could help it; which, in this case meant Bond had to trust Q, in turn, to do everything precisely as he did. For Q, it was an exercise not only in speed and agility, but also in focus, in catching the subtle twitches of muscle in Bond's back and shoulders that projected which way his wings might turn before he was even moving them. With the pace they held as they dangerously zipped through the course, reacting a split-second too late would mean the difference between catapulting through the trees unscathed and slamming violently into thick, unforgiving bark. There was a reason the forest setting was slated only for the advanced recruits once they were deemed capable of navigating the cityscape with perfection, but with Bond's guidance, Q was conquering the difficult challenge like a pro. By the time they broke free of the last line of trees and entered into a wide alley at the back of the city, the intense control they'd been exhibiting over their movements all through the forest made navigating the buildings seem like a casual walk in the park. Q was actually laughing by the time they broke through one of the course's alleyway entrances on the other side, just in time to see the startled looks of their fellow agents as they breached the dome in front of them.

"James, you bastard," Alec practically growled as he approached his friend, who was barely showing signs of any exertion. "Should've known you'd pull a stunt like that."

"Know thy enemy," Bond spouted off with an impish tilt of his head in 006's direction. "That was one of the first lessons we learned, wasn't it?"

"Second," Aiden corrected promptly. "Know thy self came first - a popular modification of a Sun Tzu quote."

Alec rolled his eyes and nudged his boyfriend with an elbow hard enough to knock him off balance momentarily. "Coming back to Academy is bringing out his inner teacher's pet. Driving me bloody insane, and it's only been one night."

Q smiled at 004. "Well I find it rather admirable. One should always properly remember their training experiences, especially for those who held such high marks as 004."

Aiden practically puffed up like a robin at the compliment, which only served to prompt another shove from his larger, more oafish counterpart. Matsuda righted himself and continued to ignore the behavior, reminding Q of the days when Alec shamelessly stalked and harassed 004 through the halls of MI6. Funny that it was still a game they played even after finally hooking up, but if that was what worked for the two of them, who was Q to judge them for it? Besides, it seemed to still be mostly intelligent tactic on Aiden's part, because everyone knew that rising to Trevelyan's taunts only made matters worse in the end. 

"So," Q continued, "considering Bond and I have already flown the gambit of this little course, what do you propose we do next?"

There was a look suddenly shared between the three double-oh's that Q had not been expecting, one of wicked smiles that reminded him of teenagers who were preparing to do something monumentally immature like running through a field to tip cattle onto their sides. If not for the fact that 004 was clearly ready to enjoy whatever it was they had in mind, he might have been slightly afraid of what was to come. If he'd been left solely with Bond and Trevelyan sharing that look, he'd have made a beeline for one of those gaps in the dome right about then.

"Wind currents," a new voice offered from behind, almost managing to actually startle the group of trained agents had a bit of announcing Angel energy not been projected a split second before the words had been uttered.

All four operatives turned to see a young man stepping out from between the buildings, smiling at them politely as he lifted the goggles covering his eyes to rest them atop his head of deliberately-gelled-to-messy hair, light brown with bleached tips at the spiky ends and styled in that way that looked like it probably took him no less than half an hour to perfect the just-got-out-of bed look. He had a youthful shape to his face, one that would've made him look no more than seventeen if not for the bit of scruff he'd grown for exactly the purposes of making himself look older. Q placed him at probably around the legal drinking age for an American, which he most probably was given his accent. 

"Hello," Bond greeted with that cautious air that surrounded all agents when confronted with an unexpected scenario, but without the danger behind it that might have been present were they not in familiar and rather safe territory that housed any number of young Angels who, like this one, could appear at any given moment. Of course, the fact that this particular youth didn't seem to be sporting any wings from what they could see helped to keep Bond and his fellow agents in their varying states of unease. They had all too recently been exposed to exactly what wingless angels were capable of, and didn't seem overly enthused to welcome another into their midst.

The approaching young man, however, either didn't catch on to the threatening buzz that was humming through the older Angels, or he didn't care. He was practically just a boy, after all, at that age where cocky nature would more often win out over common sense.

"Rey," he said by way of introducing himself, and held his hand out to Q without even glancing at the others. Maybe he was smarter than he came off, after all. 

"Q," came the expected reply with a polite smile, one that dropped a little as Rey's eyes widened, the sun reflecting off the bits of almost gold color that floated in the otherwise pale green irises. 

Rey dropped his hand and took a step back, his expression caught somewhere between mortified and in total awe. "Oh, shit! You're the...the...you're the fucking Quartermaster! Oh  _shit_. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm just, I didn't think I'd ever actually get to meet you! Oh man, no one's going to believe this. You're right  _here_."

"Q?" James questioned as the boy continued with his prattle, "Are you in some sort of secret band or television program that I should know about? Because you seem to have a fanboy."

"I don't-" Q started, when his response was interrupted by Rey's sudden interest in the other men.

"Are you double-oh's? I mean, you'd have to be right?" he continued, his excited energy flaring off him so vividly as to almost be visible. "They said you guys were coming, but I didn't think I'd actually meet any of you face-to-face. This is...this is  _awesome!_ Oh my god, what am I doing?" He slapped his palm to his forehead, mindless of the goggles he nearly knocked off his head in the process. "You want to work the course before the kids come out here and start crawling all over it, right? I'll get it running for you. That's my job. I work the control--never mind, you don't care. I'm an idiot. Don't listen to me. I'll go turn it on right now. Full power, right? Right. Duh. Double-oh's. You can just jump in any time when you hear the vacuum. Fuck me. It was  _really_ an honor to meet you guys, really. I'll see you out there."

And with that, he turned and practically sprinted back between the buildings from where he'd emerged, only then revealing the thin, too-short span of wings that were pressed impossibly tight against his back, the tips of his primary feathers resting smoothly against the backs of his knees. Underdeveloped as they were, they had been completely invisible from the front, and most likely utterly useless for proper flight. So why the boy was even at the elusive MI6 training academy was beyond Q, as well as the agents in his company.

"The hell was that?" Alec finally found his voice to ask, though there was a smug grin on his face that belayed the fact he secretly liked being doted over.

Bond shrugged. "The help, I guess."

Countering 006's preening tone, James's was tinged with something a bit more sympathetic. The help. Yes. The only thing an Angel like that could ever possibly be when it came to MI6's standards. It was no wonder he'd been so enamored with the lot of them. Their status as MI6 operatives was something that, unfortunately, he could never achieve.

A few moments later, the sound of air suddenly being sucked through a vortex rang through the walls of the city, and steady smiles returned to the agents' faces.

"What...?" Q inquired, looking to Bond for an explanation.

"Wind currents," James repeated. "Just like the boy said. Come on, Q, we'll see how well you can navigate this  _without_ my help."

The Quartermaster smiled. This could be fun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon mistakes. I only had time to do a quick edit, but I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later since you all have waited so patiently. I'll go back through and do any necessary fixes later. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q gets a taste of just how complicated the "intermediate" Angel training can be without James guiding him through it, Rey shows off how capable he can be even with his "handicap," and the agents finally get a chance to start choosing their picks among the recruits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More world details! Slowly dropping those along the way so hopefully I don't overload your brains all at once with the explainy stuff.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and the comments, btw! Writing is always so much more satisfying when you know people enjoy your work. :)

"I hate this," Q grumbled under his breath as he got back to his feet for probably the sixth time since he'd re-entered the cityscape course. He internally thanked the designers of this training apparatus that they'd had the foresight to build the seemingly-stone walls out of a softer, almost hard foam sort of material - definitely sturdy enough to withstand impact from muscular Angel bodies, but just soft enough not to break said Angel bodies. Bruise them, yes, but not break, and he was definitely going to be a walking bruise after this fiasco.

At least now he understood why the recruits were not permitted to attempt the forest course until they'd mastered this one and all its varying degrees of difficulty - the trees he and Bond had passed through were  _not_ made of foam, vastly increasing the probability of serious injury if one were not careful enough, and that was definitely not the intent of MI6's Angel Academy. Damaging their potentials would not be beneficial for anybody involved. Still, this cityscape course cranked up to its highest level of difficult was certainly doing a number on Q, who hadn't had the novelty of working his way up through the "training wheel" phases like everybody else had. 

A voice rang out over the speaker system that echoed through the model city, Rey's voice as he monitored the operatives from his little tower perched above the tallest building at the course's center. "You want me to dial it down?" he asked, and Q had no doubt that the boy was addressing  _him_. He'd seen his double-oh's effortlessly jump the shifting wind currents from street to street above his head enough times to know that to them, this was no more than an enjoyable means of letting off steam.

Q turned his head at the nearest camera and flipped it off, his expression showing exactly how frustrated he was with all this, but unwilling to give up on the challenge presented him. He may not have gone through training at this particular facility, but he  _had_ trained, his own version of wind current exercise having taken place in a simple wind tunnel like those used for training sky divers, only much larger to accommodate his wingspan and with enough space for him to change direction as the winds shifted below him. That had been a very long time ago, though, and he hadn't had need to practice the skill again since he'd gotten his wings back. Trying to surf almost hurricane-level gusts of winds as they randomly blew through the maze of streets he was trying to navigate was proving to be nearly impossible for him, the currents taking him with them and throwing him around like a sparrow caught in a tornado. It was rather unfair, and more than a bit embarrassing to the Quartermaster, especially since his own agents were watching him fumble time and time again.

"Now that wasn't very nice," Alec scolded the crude hand gesture, hovering above Q with a snarky grin on his face as if he'd heard his Quartermaster's last thoughts. "Kid's just trying to make it easier on the amateur."

"I'm  _not_  an amateur," Q retaliated, not caring that he sounded like a petulant child, himself. "Just a bit out of practice. Now go away, unless you have anything useful to say that might actually help me get through this bloody-tempestuous labyrinth."

Alec continued to smirk as he shrugged his shoulders. "Open your ears?" And with that, simply flew away.

Q glared after him long after he'd disappeared around the side of a building. Open his ears. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Probably something along the line of listening for where the winds changed directions in neighboring streets, but to Q, everything sounded like he remembered it did when he was in the simpler wind tunnel. It was all just so much blustering air surrounding him, but with the buildings thoroughly blocking any chance of his sensitive feathers picking up on lighter breezes that signified an abrupt change in wind currents, he was hopeless to predict where the next gust would be coming from. It seemed he could only avoid the rushes of air for about three turns before getting knocked out of the sky by cruel and rather unrealistic force.

Yes. Unrealistic. That's what this was. There would never be a time in an Angel's life when they would have to navigate rapidly-changing, violent winds through a city like this. Not to this extent, anyway. It was like...like students who complained of learning Calculus when they would never use it. That exact example didn't apply to Q, of course, but he at least understood the sentiment. 

Then again, he also understood that often times being forced to learn something extremely difficult served to make the more realistic challenges that much easier. If an Angel could master this, then flying through a city such as Chicago where winds did tend to be chaotic (yet not quite to this level) would be nearly effortless. That thought in mind, Q clenched his teeth together and lifted himself into the air again, intent on figuring out the solution to this particular puzzle. If 006, of all people, could do it, then his Quartermaster had damn well be able to sort it out.

Trying to do as Alec said, listening for exactly where he thought the winds were moving so that he could get himself ever further away from them, Q flew uneasily down the street, turned up another, hesitantly flitted down an alley, and just when he thought perhaps he was getting the hang of avoiding the abusive gusts, found himself being thrown backwards the minute he made his next turn. Instead of hitting a wall somewhere behind him, though, he found himself being folded into a powerful chest, arms hugging around him and rolling him so that the wind was no longer beating into him but flowing around him. Q accepted the save momentarily, keeping himself obediently tucked where he was as James rode the current into a side street where he could safely put his partner down.

"Sorry," Bond mumbled as he released a flustered Q. "If I had to watch you collide into one more wall, I think I might have cried  _for_ you."

"I don't believe you even have tear ducts," Q snapped in reply. He stalked away a few steps, throwing his hands up in frustration. "I don't understand how to do this. There. Are you all satisfied? Is that what you all wanted to hear? I can't imagine any other reason why you would all bring me here other than to humiliate your 'great Quartermaster' in a course designed for rookie recruits that he so obviously cannot seem to grasp the concept of."

Bond took a step forward, his expression locked somewhere between angry and hurt. "Q, I would never do that to you, you know that. I thought you would enjoy this."

"Well I don't."

Failure was not something that Q dealt with often, at least not while in front of an audience, and he was wearing his humiliation now like a dark shroud. Bond honestly didn't know what to do about it, not having been prepared for this particular scenario. He had truly believed that Q would be able to pick up on this exercise rather quickly, what with how smoothly he had taken to flight again once his wings were back in working order, forgetting momentarily how very long it had taken each and every one of the agents to master the secret behind this course. Q may have been a genius, but that didn't mean he was able to solve every mystery of the universe without tripping now and again. How long had it taken him to master his mind control gift, after all (with Bond being dragged through the process right along with him)? 

With nothing but apology written into his every move, James closed the distance between then and slowly, carefully drew Q into a gentle hug. "I'm sorry, love," he murmured into his hair, feeling the deep sigh and sag of defeat as Q let go of his anger. "We can try again later, alright? Just the two of us. I'll walk you through it."

After a long pause, Q nodded against his chest, bringing a sad but somewhat pleased smile to Bond's lips. Even if Q truly hated the exercise, the thought of giving up on a challenge was something he hated even more. He would be bound and determined to master that damned course before the lot of them returned to MI6, and Bond had no doubt that he'd do it. All it would take would be a bit of actual instruction, and he'd have it.

"Hey, guys," Rey's voice cut through on the intercom again. "Hate to cut the surfing short, but the flock's headed this way, so I'm gonna need you to clear the course."

Q pulled back from Bond, his eyes squinting up at the tower that Rey was controlling the wind apparatus from. "Do you think he'd let us watch?" he asked, voice returning to a more familiar, calculating tone. "Perhaps if I can observe the others for a bit, I might be able to pick up on a few things that will better allow me to understand all this."

Bond's confidant smile returned in full as he, too, looked towards the tower. "Something tells me our new little friend won't take any offense to that at all."

~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, watch Scott and Harper over here." Rey pulled two different camera feeds together on the screen so Q could get an easy look at them, all signs of his flummoxing fanboy demeanor wiped away by what seemed to be a rather practiced sort of teaching tone. The fact that the famed Quartermaster was quite literally leaning over his shoulder almost close enough to touch, and that three double-oh agents were crammed right behind him, didn't seem to rattle him one bit as he focused on both the potentials now running the gambit of the course, as well as on giving Q some much-appreciated pointers along the way. Bond, for his part, was almost a little jealous of that - not jealous of the lad in the possessive boyfriend sense, but jealous because  _he_ was supposed to be the one giving Q all these little lessons. Still, he kept silent in respect of Q's desire to learn via any means available and the obvious hunger with which he absorbed the information being offered him.

"Most of the newbies try to do basically what you did," Rey continued, paying no attention to the way Bond tensed protectively at his back at the notion of their Quartermaster being compared to a floundering recruit. Q, for his part, remained the neutral student, not phased by the seeming slight. "They try to get through the course as fast as possible, thinking they have to avoid the air floods to do it. Buuuut," he drew out as he waited for the recruit he'd identified as Scott to make a sharp, sudden turn, reversing his direction on the spot to go back the way he came, his speed picked up tenfold as he rode the sudden gust of wind he'd encountered, using it to slingshot himself into a side street where he hopped another wave of air until it threw him back onto a path that put him closer to his designated exit. "Sometimes going backwards is the best way to go forwards, so instead of fighting against the current, you want to try to use it to your advantage."

"Right. That I get," Q hummed thoughtfully. "What I still don't follow is how they know when the...air floods, as you called them? - are coming."

"I told you," Alec huffed. "Open your ears."

Both Bond and Aiden gave him little physical checks to shut him up, just as they'd done in M's office at the beginning of this mess. He listened, but not without giving them each a look that said he didn't appreciate this new habit of both of them ganging up on him. Having both his best friend  _and_ his boyfriend turn against him simply wasn't fair.

"There's a sort of...whistle," Bond was quick to say, snatching for the answer before Rey could beat him to it. He'd be damned if he sat back and let a rookie kid teach his Quartermaster everything. "Like wind catching in a fireplace, but softened almost to a whisper. You'll hear it-"

"-in the street in front of you, if you listen hard enough," Rey cut in, anyway, once again ignoring the way it made 007 bristle. "So, basically, ignore everything else and just pay attention to whatever street you're aiming for. If you hear that whistley sound, hop your board and catch the wave. That easy."

He pointed to the girl named Harper just as she was demonstrating the move in a similar fashion as Scott had done before, looking perfectly relaxed as she easily glided along with the rush of air until she was able to veer off into an alley. She zipped along at a decent speed, but pulled herself up short just as she was about to pass a cross street, instead turning in time to ride out the new burst of air that she'd nearly bypassed. It pushed her much further ahead in the course, almost like watching a game of Candyland where a player found themselves lucky enough to land on the Rainbow Bridge, sliding her ahead past several potential traps in the maze.

Q furled his brow in thought. "Those two are worth keeping an eye on," he muttered mostly to himself, clearly approving of what he was seeing. By the focused looks on the other double-oh's who had gathered outside of the tower, caught here and there on the screens after having found perches atop the various buildings to study their potential candidates, they were all in agreement. Q could only hope that it would be that easy, that they would only have to choose between two of the many recruits as opposed to several. Knowing his agents, though, they would each want to pick one of their own, turning the decision-making process into a proverbial bloodbath. Or perhaps a literal one. MI6 Angels were not known well for losing, nor did they particularly like to share.

Rey, apparently feeling the need to interject himself into the process, snorted a sound of clear disapproval. "Right. Worth keeping an eye on if you like looking at assholes." He kept talking as he opened the screen up to see more of the potentials in view as they navigated the labyrinth. "Skilled? Sure. But he's cocky as fuck and she's just a bitch. Like the high school jock and the tyrant head cheerleader in a bad after-school special. Here. These guys aren't  _quite_ as good, but their level of douchebag is way lower, so that's a plus in my book."

None of the operatives said anything to that. Not that it wasn't appreciated getting the inside scoop from someone who clearly knew his way around the recruits, but personality traits weren't exactly a hight priority on the scale of what to look for in the next licensed killer. As long as they were capable of  _pretending_ to be whoever they needed to be, their real personas were all but irrelevant. It wasn't as if agents often had to work with each other on missions, after all, so their ability to make friends with one another wasn't even really a factor in the grand scheme of things.

A moment later, any further thoughts towards potential candidates flew out the window as a small alarm beeped on Rey's console. "The fuck?" he cursed, his hands flying towards the controls to power everything down. It took an extra minute for the air circulators to wind down, however, which meant the malfunction in wind current directions was still in full effect as it caught up one poor recruit in a crossroads, strong winds blasting her from pretty much every direction all at once, spinning her around in circles and slamming her against wall after wall until she finally hit hard against the ground. 

"What happened?" Q asked even as his eyes danced along the console and computer screens in search of an answer of his own, Quartermaster voice firmly in place.

Rey didn't reply, simply reached under the table for a small pack that he slung over his shoulder before pushing away from his desk, nabbing up his goggles from the adjoining table in the process. "Move," he demanded, seeming to forget who he was talking to. Regardless, the Angels recognized they were guests in his space, and if they were in the way of a mission of his making, they needed to be out of it. Respectfully, they stepped aside, giving him full access to the tower door, their eyes following him towards the winding set of stairs-

-or the empty balcony that he had just leapt off of the moment he snapped his goggles into place.

Alarm swept over their faces as they looked from the door back to the screens, Q already setting the cameras' focus onto the boy with the stunted wings that clearly weren't built to carry him in flight. That fact didn't seem to concern him, though, as he sliced downwards like a streamlined bullet, arms and legs tucked against his body to prevent wind resistance. Then, just as he reached the level of the next tallest building, he flared his small wings out - just a flash of orange in the daylight - catching the air just enough to turn his body upright and slow himself down to make a quick landing on the roof. From there, he sprinted across and leapt off the other side, again spreading his wings to glide along until he hit the next rooftop, keeping up his speed from one building to another until he reached the one just above the downed Angel. Without slowing, he stepped right off the building's ledge, twisting his body around in mid-fall to catch his hands on a windowsill where he didn't linger for long before he was pushing off it. It was as if his fingers and shoes had sprouted tiny springs, and he easily hopped from one sill down to the next down the next, hardly lighting on the surface in between until he landed gracefully on the road below him. He never missed a beat as he bounded the last few steps over to the dazed Angel and began to check her over for injuries, reaching into his bag for necessary first aid supplies in the process.

"The hell was _that?"_ Alec asked in an unintentional repeat of his first reaction to having met the strange boy. "A flying squirrel?"

It was Aiden who answered this time. "A professional parkour artist...with a built-in hang glider."

And as ridiculous a description as that was, it was nothing but spot-on accurate. Now it was beginning to make more sense why MI6 might have wanted to keep Rey around, even if he couldn't become an agent. The boy had some definite skills.

~~~~~~~~~

Agents, staff, and recruits, alike, all milled around outside the training dome waiting for word on what happened with the wind machine. Q had gone with the work crew to help resolve the issue faster (and also probably just because he was curious to see how everything ran), which left all eight double-oh agents unsupervised as they walked the gambit of their potential candidates. It was more a casual affair than they had been anticipating, their original plan being just to observe the potentials on this first day, and formally meeting them in a regimented lineup the following day for some testing of their own invention. This was good too, though, allowing the agents to see how their candidates acted when their guard was only slightly elevated by the presence of their senior Angels and potential coworkers in their midst as opposed to being stuck in strict formation. 

It was almost amusing watching how MI6's Angels seemed to clique off as they stalked around the cluster of recruits, sniffing out who their chosen favorite would be among the younger generation, the latter of whom had also formed little cliques that made it painfully obvious which groups each double-oh would migrate towards. Gregory and Saul (003 and 2), ever the pair, circled one side of the so-called "douchebag" crew that consisted of Scott, Harper, and a few others of what could only have been breed-program Angels - the ones who had narcissistic bragging rights over their skills due to the fact that they'd been in training for this very program almost since birth. On the other side of the circle hovered Thyra and Kimi (001 and 9), basically the female version of 002 and 3, only possibly even more volatile. Where Gregory was generally a hot ember, perpetually in a state of a subtle, simmering danger that could flare up and melt flesh at the smallest drop of kerosene, Thyra was almost constantly in a state of nuclear fallout, where just being in too close vicinity of her poison could do mortal harm. Saul, Gregory's best friend, always had his back in any situation, which meant he was just as apt to fan the more deadly agent's fire as he was to put it out, depending on how much personal injury (if any) the two might endure in any given scenario. If it was worth it to put up a fight, then fight they would, but if Saul thought the risk too high, he could reign Gregory in, pulling him back from the edge in a way that nobody else could. Kimi, for her part, was ever-the-enabler. She  _never_ tried to pull Thyra away from a conflict, never tried to calm her down, and was as apt to arguing with her as she was to agree with her; yet, she was the only one who 001 never seemed to get angry at enough to want to punch. It was a mutual respect sort of situation, one formed of all sharp edges and stinging lashes of cruel wit, something akin to a sibling bond in which they could verbally maim each other all they wanted, but if anyone else dared come up against either one of them while both happened to be in the same area, there would be hell to pay. Thus it was that the similarities in hostile temperament combined with the differences with which each duo chose to wield said temperament did not a good combination make, making it a rare occasion for any of the four to share the same space at the same time. This was exactly why 003 had found it in everyone's best interests to swap rooms the previous evening, and why 002 and 009 had found themselves housed already on opposite sides of the building's circle. Any closer contact than that held the risk of the entire column going up in flames.

As it stood now, though, the two teams seemed to be coming to some sort of mutual agreement of some form without ever really even looking at one another. Gregory and Thyra were silently leading their own charge, that much was clear, both wanting a candidate from the bred-Angel selection - someone like themselves who simply didn't harbor the same attachments to sentimental Mundane life that natural-borns had. Not that the breeder parents weren't encouraged to raise their children to fit in with Mundane lifestyles until they were old enough to attend Academy, but it was the difference between being born into endless wealth and being born into the working class. Bred Angels were simply raised with the knowledge that they served one ultimate purpose, and that was to become an agent of MI6, whereas natural-borns tended to live more normal lifestyles until they showed up on MI6's radar and were thus coaxed from their parent's care to attend Academy, ultimately figuring out where they were to fit into the world once they were more capable of controlling their Angel energies. To put it bluntly, bred Angels believed themselves better than natural-borns because they went into Academy with the full intention of making it out the other side as agents, whereas natural-borns seemed to fumble through a bit at the beginning levels, taking them a bit longer to train as they adjusted to life away from whatever environments they were raised in. That made them more or less a waste of time in the eyes of those who knew exactly what they wanted and were at Academy to take it, all the way up until a natural-born proved themselves worthy by actually being selected to dawn the number of a double-oh. Bond, Aiden, and Serena were among those who were proudly representing their natural status. And Alec? Well, even years after his indoctrination into the assassin program, there were still wagers on whether or not he'd been born to crocodiles. It seemed only M and probably Q knew 006's past, and he was more than happy to let it stay that way, something that James was completely okay with. The title of best friend didn't mean he had a right to go pulling skeletons out of Alec's closet, after all, no more than Trevelyan had to pull them out of Bond's.

Said two friends had both silently stopped their own interrogating of potentials, standing near each other as they watched events unfold between Gregory and Thyra. It was quick, subtle, quiet, a truce with an instant challenge behind it, the outcome a bit surprising, to say the least. Alec would've put money on Gregory choosing Scott and Thyra choosing Harper, girls against guys, but when Gregory's eyes flicked to the feisty little female with the dyed-purple and green wings, Thyra simply smiled and laid her gaze on Scott. And that was it - no threats, no hackles raised, not a single drop of blood shed among the four as Saul and Kimi quietly backed their friends' choices. Miracle of miracles, they had agreed on something without a mini war breaking out right there on the field.

Well, not an _agreement_. If Q could've had it his way, they all would agree on one single candidate and thus bypass the War of the Potentials, but that was a "perfect world" scenario. In a perfect world, there'd be no need for double-oh's at all and they'd all be out of work, so the Quartermaster would just have to count his losses. At least he could sleep peacefully knowing that 003 and 001 hadn't ripped some poor recruit's wings off in the process of playing tug-of-war over him or her.

Off to the side of the activity, Aiden seemed to have inadvertently found a favorite for himself, his laughter filtering over from where he continued to sit with the girl who had been injured on the course. He had initially gone to simply check on the little redhead to make sure she was okay, but clearly became quickly enamored with whatever conversation she was carrying with him and hadn't left her side since. She was a pretty little thing - the combination of blue eyes and red hair being a rarity of itself by Mundane standards - and with wings that shimmered like opals in the afternoon sun, some might worry that 004 was taking a romantic interest in the girl; but Alec seemed to harbor no such doubts in his partner's intents. Matsuda was there to choose someone he felt suited to don the 008 status, and with the girl's injuries consisting of no more than some heavy bruising, a few scrapes, some bent feathers, and a mildly sprained wrist, she was still more than capable of being in the running; and if Aiden liked her, she was probably more than worth her weight both in intelligence and clever sass.

Those traits, however, were not so much what Trevelyan looked for in double-oh's, meaning he would be going against his own boyfriend in this particular debate. For him and Bond, they just wanted someone else who could rile up M's feathers as much as they could. Mean was something she could manage, cool and obedient were traits she preferred, but chaotic unpredictability was by far the most  _fun_ , and there just wasn't enough of that running around the MI6 circuit. Thus far, Bond and Alec had marked a few names that could potentially fill that role, but they'd have to watch a bit longer before they would come to a decision on who would have their backing. So that left them and 005 to still choose a candidate, Serena of the type to generally take her time whenever she was faced with making a choice as important as this one. She would most likely prowl around the potentials for the better part of the day and mull it over in the quiet of her room in the evening before coming to any sort of solid conclusion. As far as Bond and Trevelyan went, all they needed was for someone to make themselves stand out in their eyes.

"Hey, Stumpy!" Scott suddenly called as Q, Rey, and the technicians finally emerged from the city maze. "What happened? You forget how to do your job properly?"

Rey stopped and put on what looked to be a genuinely sympathetic expression. "Look, man, I know you're hurting, but I don't think broadcasting what your girlfriend yelled at your dick last night is the answer. We have a therapist on sight for that. Keep it private."

He kept right on walking as Scott's face turned an angry red, his hands balling into fists at his sides. There'd be retribution for the quip later when the eyes of the trainers weren't on their charges, that much was for sure, but for now it seemed Rey could care less about the waves of embarrassed hatred pouring off the recruit. He brushed it aside as if this was all just old hat to him; which, Bond realized, it most likely was. And he was fearless in the face of it, much like he had been in the tower when Bond, himself, was bristling over his shoulder, and in the way he'd quickly taken charge in an emergency situation despite the people who were surrounding him.

"Alec," 007 drew out in the form of almost a question, his lips quirking up on one side as he stared after the young man.

Trevelyan laughed and dropped his hand on Bond's shoulder. "You really are trying to get M to kill you aren't you? Suicidal bastard. I'm all in."

And just like that, their candidate was chosen, who wasn't even officially a candidate at all. 

This was going to be perfect.


End file.
